Asia: From Prometheus Unbound
My
soul
is
an
enchanted
boat,
Which,
like
a
sleeping
swan,
doth
float
Upon
the
silver
waves
of
thy
sweet
singing;
And
thine
doth
like
an
angel
sit
Beside
a
helm
conducting
it,
Whilst
all
the
winds
with
melody
are
ringing.
It
seems
to
float
ever,
for
ever,
Upon
that
many-winding
river,
Between
mountains,
woods,
abysses,
A
paradise
of
wildernesses!
Till,
like
one
in
slumber
bound,
Borne
to
the
ocean,
I
float
down,
around,
Into
a
sea
profound,
of
ever-spreading
sound:
Meanwhile
thy
spirit
lifts
its
pinions
In
music's
most
serene
dominions;
Catching
the
winds
that
fan
that
happy
heaven.
And
we
sail
on,
away,
afar,
Without
a
course,
without
a
star,
But,
by
the
instinct
of
sweet
music
driven;
Till
through
Elysian
garden
islets
By
thee,
most
beautiful
of
pilots,
Where
never
mortal
pinnace
glided,
The
boat
of
my
desire
is
guided:
Realms
where
the
air
we
breathe
is
love,
Which
in
the
winds
and
on
the
waves
doth
move,
Harmonizing
this
earth
with
what
we
feel
above.
We
have
past
Age's
icy
caves,
And
Manhood's
dark
and
tossing
waves,
And
Youth's
smooth
ocean,
smiling
to
betray:
Beyond
the
glassy
gulfs
we
flee
Of
shadow-peopled
Infancy,
Through
Death
and
Birth,
to
a
diviner
day;
A
paradise
of
vaulted
bowers,
Lit
by
downward-gazing
flowers,
And
watery
paths
that
wind
between
Wildernesses
calm
and
green,
Peopled
by
shapes
too
bright
to
see,
And
rest,
having
beheld;
somewhat
like
thee;
Which
walk
upon
the
sea,
and
chant
melodiously!
